


Time After Time

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Reformatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: Relationships in wartime are ill-advised at the best of times. Jazz never cared for anyone's advice however, and Grimlock is a very determined mech.





	1. Crumbs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RadioCybertron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioCybertron/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1 continuity, Written for the Dreamwidth [tf_rare_pairing community](http://tf-rare-pairing.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt: Jazz/Grimlock: "Hungry."

Jazz got vibes.

Not like the locals' superstitious folkloric kind. Prowl called them subconsciously reached conclusions based on a series of extrapolations.

Jazz called them vibes.

In watching the humans, in absorbing their media, Jazz knew all about their food. Humans, if they thought about it, would call the standard ration cube 'gruel'. Or they would have, long ago. Ration bars would get identified as 'granola nut bars'. But before the war had dropped them all into the proverbial smelter, Cybertron had a culture around their intake. Ironically, they had no real self-storage beyond their tanks, unlike humans with their fat deposits. Given their mass and energy needs, Cybertronians took in a _lot_ more fuel than humans.

Candies and gels and crisps and wafers. Wraps and strips and seasonings and colors. Jazz possessed not a jot of the skill necessary to create the masterpieces he remembered, but he held the visuals of a multitude of establishments dear to his spark. So he remembered what crumbs looked like, even though he hadn't _seen_ any in ages. He looked at the innocent bit of puffed purple pastry alone on the corridor floor, and his mouth oiled up. He could totally envision the taste of the copper and barium mix. Sweet and soothing, and just what in Unicron's name was it doing on the floor?

This meant trouble, Jazz felt it in his struts.

Jazz stooped to pick the crumb up, sniffing absently. His sensory net light up with pleasure and he just about whined. Jazz would not eat off the floor. But someone had made these. Someone that had not shared. Curling his hand around his evidence, he sniffed the air, evaluating the air flow within the Ark. His sensor suite ranked damned near the best Cybertron had to offer in its heyday. Now he used it to find the next crumb. Then the next.

He followed his trails of brittle crumbs down to the rock breaching the hull of the ship. They had carved caves for some of their youngest recruits down here. If recruits was the word. What had possessed those involved to create the dinobots, Jazz didn't know. But down here they all were. Grimlock complained about hitting his head, otherwise. Not to mention the others constantly banging things with their horns, plates, and giant afts. Lovingly, powerfully built mechs.

Jazz followed that seductive scent into their common area. Grimlock, smirk visible with his battle mask down, sat on a padded boulder, covered in crumbs. In his thick fingers, one last pastry.

"Say, Grimlock-"

The mech's smirk widened, and he popped that last pastry into his mouth unrepentantedly. Jazz eyed him thoughtfully. An old, ignored hunger for the finer things in life stirred in Jazz's processor. And Grimlock wore his greed all over himself. But he hadn't started to chew. Jazz could do this. The smirk faded into confusion as Jazz sauntered up. He didn't stop to think his plan through as he climbed into the mech's lap. Jazz quickly grabbed the side vents of the mech's head and yanked him down.

Grimlock did exactly as he hoped. Jazz took advantage of that opened mouth, sucking the sweetness into his own. If the pastry had mushed into soggy bits, he still got a taste of it. Grimlock's arms wrapped around him. The claw spikes pressed into his back and aft as Grimlock's mouth pressed down on his. Vaguely, Jazz decided this had been a very bad idea as a different hunger altogether stirred. All the dinobots beat Optimus for size, never mind Jazz, and somehow, Jazz had lost control of the kiss. One huge hand displayed a shocking, erotic knowledge of Jazz's frame, and Grimlock forced Jazz back over his arm with his kiss.

Finally, Grimlock broke the kiss, and Jazz listened to their ventilation systems work overtime. Grimlock rumbled, and Jazz's whole frame vibrated. Suddenly conscious of being small, Jazz looked up. "You coulda just shared the goodies, mech."

"Shut you mouth," Grimlock muttered. Then he cut off Jazz's smart comeback with another kiss.


	2. A Better Mousetrap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [Crumbs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4347884/chapters/11115038)
> 
> I'm days late for RadioCybertron's birthday, but hopefully this is good anyway? Prompt: Jazz/Grimlock - sneak attack
> 
> Warnings for the misuse of food?

Wheeljack said that the ship had skidded across the basin first. Crashing into the volcano, it had broken through the outer walls of St. Hilary’s magma pockets. Or so the ship’s own records said. Certainly many of the lower decks had been compromised, with lengthwise tears all down the hull. Lava and a good chunk of the volcano’s rock had spilled down over the smoking hulk of the _Ark_ when its skid ended in the mountain. What few sections had proven reachable had to be cleared of mechs that had not survived either the long dark of stasis or that catastrophic crash.

Some of the survivors hadn’t been what _Grimlock_ felt were survivors. Sparks pulled from crumpled frames to save by transplant into new ones. Grimlock rubbed his chest, sometimes, and wondered who he had been. They all did, but Ratchet looked up like he had been caught with his hand in a treat jar when asked. Wheeljack looked up at them, fin things flashing slowly. After, he would take their hands and talk to them. He would tell them about Cybertron and people and places that no longer existed.

Without telling them which of those people they had been.

They had stopped asking. Grimlock and Swoop because they reasoned very quickly they _wouldn’t_ be told; the others because it stopped mattering. They were themselves. Swoop might have lingering thoughts about the _other_ he had been, Grimlock had pushed them away. The _other_ could not be revived, whatever influence he left behind on Grimlock.

But at times, a strange sense of having done this before overtook Grimlock. In the warren of cramped, naturally formed caves beneath the underbelly of the _Ark_ , Crawling through a space only just wide enough for his large frame, in the dark outside the roomier caves actually meant for him and his, that echo wrapped itself around him again. Grimlock stared at the rock, because it looked wrong. In his mind, he saw metal. He forced the thought away.

He had a real mech to catch down here, not a memory.

The smaller bots didn’t think they fit anywhere, but Grimlock and his brothers had done a lot of exploring down here. After the ‘proper’ Cybertronians had taken the tools back upstairs with them, he and his had worked hard to widen the caves and shafts themselves. They fit into most places down here now. Most importantly, he fit through the broken tunnel that crossed the topside of the _Ark_. They kept stock down here, as their larder, and two routes led to the larder: the large main one, right around the slagged prow of the ship, and this crawlspace. It let out as a vent above the actual storage crystals, and Grimlock slowed when he made out the cubes’ light. They also kept the treats Wheeljack made for them down there. Recently, they had a thief.

Whoever Grimlock _had_ been, he was Wheeljack’s creation now. Morose but knowledgeable, Snarl had helped the more coordinated Swoop build three tiny trip switches. They had seen enough trip wires in the goofy native animated shows that Ratchet asked them to watch. But Grimlock _knew_ who their thief was, and wires would not work with this mech. Tiny, tiny lasers set right on the ground, covered by the native pebbles, spaced to catch any tiny mech that walked down to them. It ‘caught’ Wheeljack every time now, so Grimlock had asked for another batch of those crumbly, flaky purple treats. He had left fewer crumbs, this time, but he knew the teasing path had been spotted. One of the three lasers has been tripped, and Wheeljack hadn’t commed him since delivering the treats.

Grimlock crawled within a yard of the ledge. The circle of light thrown up by the lantern beside the door didn’t reach so far. Their thief wouldn’t see him. He waited for the light to come on. A low, smooth voice chuckled below him. Grimlock crept to the edge, peering over the edge.

Jazz stood down there eating one of the five treats Wheeljack had left sitting on the central table for them. The Autobot officer shivered and made a little groan of pleasure. Grimlock wished Jazz stood farther from the steel table the plate sat on. He also wished the mech had put the plate’s lid down. Oh well, he decided. Wheeljack could make himself another one. At the ledge, Grimlock gathered his pedes slowly and silently under him.

Jazz had run once. Not for lack of interest. Oh, no. Jazz’s small body had burned with interest after that kiss and a few exploratory touches. The small mech had neither gone to Wheeljack to ask for his own pastries nor reported Grimlock behavior to Prime. Instead, he watched Grimlock from behind that wide visor, toothy smile in place like a challenge. And he kept creeping down _here_ for their pastries.

Grimlock launched himself over the ledge, aiming for the spot between Jazz and the door. Jazz only had time to spin around before Grimlock’s weight cracked the rock floor beside him, and the large mech himself rolled forward into Jazz, pinning the smaller against the table. The lid shattered on the ground, but Jazz had kept hold of that pastry. Pressing against Jazz harder just for a soft gasp, Grimlock retracted his mask to smirk down at the little mech. “That Grimlock’s.”

“Didn’t see your name on it, mech. It don’t hurt you to _share_ , y’know,” Jazz grinned back at him. He held the pastry away from Grimlock, although the bigger mech didn’t try to take it back. “Let me go, eh?”

“No,” Grimlock rumbled, enjoying the way Jazz shivered. He leaned forward listening to Jazz’s ventilation system jump settings fast. Like before, the mech’s body heated under his hands. Jazz had to spread his free hand on the table behind him. “You Jazz want me Grimlock hold you. Kiss good. Cake good. You Jazz _ask_ , maybe me Grimlock share.”

“It’s not polite to call someone on personal failings, mech. Y’know?” Jazz wiggled between Grimlock and the table, so they fitted more evenly together. Grimlock grinned; if anything, the small mech’s systems heated further. “It’s polite to ignore when mechs get hot an’ bothered.”

Grimlock snorted and pushed back. Jazz slumped and looked up at him, head tilted. Then he bent down and caught Jazz’s mouth again. The mech’s lips parted under his, sticky and sweet from the flaky pastry. Breaking the kiss, Grimlock rumbled. ‘You Jazz _ask_.”

“Right,” Jazz muttered back, head dropping against Grimlock’s chest. “Can I have one of those pastries?”

“No more kisses?”

Jazz shivered again, warm and small, in the arms Grimlock wrapped around him. He didn’t mistake Jazz for helpless. He knew the small mech wiped the training floor with both of those twins, and Grimlock just barely held his ground against one of them. But Jazz felt good there. When Jazz looked up again, his habitual grin had faded. “Yeah. I think I might like more of those, too.”


	3. Piece Of Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the [tf_rare_pairing community](http://tf-rare-pairing.dreamwidth.org/) March 2016 Challenge: Grimlock / Jazz / the mech in charge

After fighting to keep those surviving sparks stable in medical stasis, Ratchet bullied Wheeljack into helping him repair and rebuild frames to house them. Optimus, humming to himself, had walked away from the medical bay without ordering the doctor to stop. The old laws forbid re-framing, but Ratchet’s hands and voice shook in a way that made all of them nervous. The old doctor had stood stolid beneath them for so long the display of sudden desperate weakness left them all anxious and afraid.

Later, in the meetings discussing the ‘recruits’, Ratchet put up a bitter fight against informing them of their origins.

Jazz voted for telling Grimlock and his team who they had been. He felt they deserved to know; he felt _he_ deserved the closure of ending any lingering ties. Ratchet felt it would be an unnecessary burden, and Jazz ground his denta before smiling oh-so-broadly. A burden, indeed.

Spying on the good doctor, Jazz watched their war hardened medic treat them like newsparks, and maybe Jazz even got why. Ratchet walked the survivors through their days and simple tasks, and he barked at Prime when they stumbled. Wheeljack sighed and hovered just close enough to lure the reframed mechs to him when they got fed up with Ratchet themselves. Where Ratchet coddled, Wheeljack taught. Jazz put on an easygoing front while he tried to limit the damage the bumbling giants did on the battlefield and to morale at base. To _his_ morale.

He still didn’t know what the big mech might remember. He only knew that Grimlock-who-is didn’t remember Jazz. The mech’s surviving processor hadn’t properly integrated with its new frame, but it remained every bit as sharp as it had been before the crash, whatever language problems the mech had. As time passed, Grimlock moved with an emerging grace, and he began to exert a presence Jazz had _missed_...

It wasn’t fair to be so close and so far away. Jazz couldn’t see this unfamiliar frame and not think of the spark he had known. He couldn’t watch this stranger mirror a past Jazz would never touch again, and not see that reflection distort in his own mind’s eye.

And then there had been the whole fragging cake debacle.

The hand covering the bottom half of Jazz’s back remained warm and firm after Jazz’s capture. So much bigger now, and why had he waited? The plating under his hands reflected more Earth-bound, muted colors. The voice, like Grimlock’s speech, had nothing of Jazz’s loss in it. But, pressed so close, he felt at home again. He knew the spark pulsing just that small distance from his own.

Thick fingers broke little bits off a fresh, warm pastry for Jazz to nibble at. Ratchet might kill him, later. It wouldn’t matter. He shied away from imagining Prime’s disappointment. The old laws had forbidden reframing, and Jazz draped himself against the new body of his once-lover, finally grateful Ratchet done it.


	4. Cyclical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: character death?  
> Notes: Written for the [Dreamwidth tf_rare_pairing community](http://tf-rare-pairing.dreamwidth.org/)’s Fall 2016 Challenge; fourth in a drabble series  
> Prompt: time change

Grimlock looked through the porthole to the wide stretch of land surrounding the derelict _Ark_. Autumn colored the trees, and the grass had begun its slow fade. Even the reeds in the duck pond Hound had painstakingly built with Beachcomber were wasting to sticks out there.. Winter’s yearly death approached early this year.

He decided to make another SnowPrime this year, but right in the middle of their private road, where everyone would have to drive around it to get out to the humans’ roads. And he would make it _huge_.

“You’re thinking hard. Thought you wanted to talk?” Jazz asked behind him.

“Life is all a cycle,” Grimlock said, turning.

Seated on his desk, Jazz scowled at the floor and kept kicking one heel against a desk leg. “Since when’d you get all philosophical?”

“Since the fancy headband, Jazz.”

“Told Wheeljack jolting your processors was a bad idea. You make mechs crazy that way. Guess it’s good it cleared up your speech problems, maybe.”

“I remember.”

Jazz kept kicking the desk. “You weren’t there when I said it, Lock.”

Grimlock turned. A younger, brighter frame danced in his memory. Light and laughter defined a wholly different mech from the Jazz of today, who restlessly kicked his own desk. But, then, Jazz’s life had burned in the crucible of war, hadn’t it? Even the lover that had survived longer than every other sacrifice had finally been lost to the fire.

Then Grimlock had been forged from that lover’s corpse.

“Life is all a cycle,” Grimlock repeated. He pushed away from wall and porthole. Vents cycling on the lowest draw speed, he went on with care. Truth was a sharp knife, and Jazz didn’t understand Grimlock was armed. “But times change. I changed. Because death is a change, isn’t it?”

Jazz froze. Grimlock cupped his lover’s chin, encouraging Jazz to look up. Grimlock murmured, “Wheeljack told me they didn’t save mechs like us, before. They let mechs busted and burned down to sparks and corrupted backup files go.”

“They… Mechs lost it, Lock. They went mad, you know. All scrambled between who they were and who they’d been. But Ratchet, he tripped, mech. Went wild on us. And Optimus didn’t… Well, he don’t care about old ways much, either.”

“You didn’t tell _me_.”

“Primus leaked, what was I gonna say? I needed to grieve. You needed to learn you again.”

“You think I wasn’t me, any more?” Grimlock cupped Jazz’s face with both hands now and fought to keep his fans and voice from jittering in laughter.

“He died. You’re you. I… I had to come to terms with that. Let go of what was. Let it die. Let that part of me die.”

“You miss him?

“I’ll always miss him. Like you said, though. Times change.”

Grimlock contemplated his reflection in Jazz’s visor. He let the reconstructed memory of a young Jazz fade as he pulled the aged reality to him. Careful of his fat, clumsy talons, he explored every weld scar, every ground slag line.

He knew the human term deja vu. He knew he really had learned all these imperfections before. With the passing of the mech he’d been, the ending of that mech’s time, this time became Grimlock’s now.

And he would enjoy it until the season changed again.


End file.
